The Curse of Michael Myers
by lgabriel
Summary: If Michael Myers can find someone who loves him unconditionally, the untangible curse to kill can be broken. What happens when Megan Talbert buys the old Myers' place? **Based on John Carpenter & Rob Zombie Remakes** **PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU READ**
1. Chapter 1

Megan Talbert signed the last page of the many papers to close the deal on the purchase of her new home. It was a fixer upper, and she was not only ready for the challenge, but she welcomed it. She shook hands with the realtor and exchanged the pen for the keys to her first house. The condominiums she had rented previously did the trick, but nothing would provide such elation as owning her own house, complete with a front and back yard.

Climbing in her BMW, she raced from the business park to the quaint neighborhood streets to have another look. It was pretty beat up from the outside. The inside was a different story. She couldn't believe the realty was practically giving it away. Something about murders in the home many years before came up in conversation. The house had been vacant ever since, except for the occasional visits from neighborhood kids looking for a quick place to hook up and party for the night.

Megan parked in front of the home and climbed out. A few people on the sidewalks stopped in mid step to watch her. Their jaws dropped as they saw her lift the 'for sale' sign from the yard after she entered through the gate.

Her hands trembled with excitement and a little fear, as it was getting dark and the area was new to her. She had just moved to Haddonfield as a transfer to the local hospital. She was a surgeon by day and a tv junkie by night.

Megan finally got the key into the old lock, having to use her strength to turn the key without breaking it off in the rusty lock. The sound of the lock coming out of it's long, lonely home was music to her ears.

The door creaked as she opened it and stepped into the pitch black. Feeling around on the wall for a light switch, she finally located one. She flipped the swtich positions up and down without any luck. She ran back out to the car and got a flashlight from the trunk's emergency kit. Her excitement led her to run back down the sidewalk back into the house.

The flashlight struggled to shine, as it was on it's last leg. She hit the side with her hand each time it threatened to cut off. It finally cooperated and she shone it around the foyer.

The walls had holes in them and the places that didn't were still covered in 70's wallpaper. There were still a few small pieces of furniture scattered throughout the house. They were covered in sheets that were a dingy white.

Cobwebs adorned anywhere they were able to have been spun. The musty smell, did indeed, prove that the old house had been vacant for many years. Dirt and grime covered the floors and she made clouds everytime her feet came in contact with the floor.

"This is gonna be a long ride", she said outloud, thinking of the many hours of labor she would have to endure just to clean the place up in order to make it decent enough to flip.

*bang*

"Hello?", she asked, jumping in her place, shining the flashlight anywhere her eyes looked. She couldn't quite pinpoint exactly where the noise came from. Her instincts said to get out of there until she could come back during the day. But something, deep inside, implored her to explore the old dwelling. She gingerly took small, quiet steps, her torch shining everywhere. The detective in her was fueling her adrenaline after all the crime shows she watched.

Megan made it from room to room without any luck. The kitchen was the last room on the lower level to check out. The sink was full of thick, congealed water and still had dishes in it. It almost looked like noone bothered to fix or clean up the house for unknown reasons.

The only thing that adorned the tops of the counter was an old butcher block. The slits that used to house the knives were covered in dust and cobwebs. The dining room was attached to the kitchen. She slowly pushed the swivel door open. The table and hutch were still intact and the china display looked as it it had never been touched.

Reaching up a hand, she grabbed the turnkey to open one of the glass doors and take a closer look. Something about the patterns on the china triggered a childhood memory of the set her Grandmother used to guard with her life.

She traced her fingers over the pattern of small flowers and greenery. She almost dropped the plate, as the same noise came again.

*bang*

Her eyes quickly shot over the the living room to her right. A small amount of light shown in from the streetlights that had just woken up. The rays barely made it through the old, dark and dingy curtains. The corners of the room were so pitch black, that if you stared at them long enough, your eyes would start to play tricks on you.

Megan carefully put the plate pack in its place and secured the old hutch. The silence was eerie. She realized not many cars had passed by the old house, since she parked. She was starting to take steps toward the living room when her phone cut the silence like a knife, startling her.

She reached down to grab it from her coat pocket and saw the display said she had one voicemail. Not very good reception in this old place, she thought, dropping it back in its hole. She figured she'd done enough for one evening and decided to call it a night.

Little did she know there had been a figure in the corner shadow watching her every move...


	2. Chapter 2

The moving trucks were scheduled to leave Megan's home in West Palm Beach, Florida in two days. She decided to leave early to make the drive back to Haddonfield. She had a lot of cleaning up to do and the electrician was coming. She turned up the music and put the petal to the metal.

The further she got, the colder she got. Being born and raised under the beach sun, this was a big transition for her. But, she was ready for a change. She loved snow and almost never got a chance to see it, or enjoy it when it did visit Florida.

Megan stopped halfway at a bed and breakfast to get a good night's sleep before making the other half of the drive she had planned early in the morning.

After dinner and shower, she plopped on the antique four poster bed in the room. She decided to explore the history of the town she would be living in. After googling, she landed on a website with some interesting, yet startling infomation.

Apparently, the information wasn't that hard to find. She located a newpaper article from the Haddonfield Times. She read it outloud:

* * *

"On Halloween night 1963, six year old Michael Myers murdered his seventeen year old sister Judith with a butcher knife at their home in Haddonfield, Illinois. Almost immediately after, his parents, Peter Thomas Myers and Margaret Myers arrive home and find him in a trance like state. He is then sent to Smith's Grove Sanitarium and was placed under the care of child psychiatrist Dr. Samuel Loomis. Eight years of treatment leads Loomis to believe that Myers is nothing less than pure evil. An additional seven years of trying to keep Myers locked up ends upon his attempted transfer to be prosecuted as an adult. As Loomis and his assistant Marion Chambers go to Smiths Grove to take the twenty one year old Myers to court, Myers steals their car, nearly kills Marion and escapes. Loomis then attempts to find Myers at all costs."

"In Haddonfield, Myers stalks his surviving sister, Laurie and some of her friends. After killing her friends to get to her, Loomis manages to shoot him six times which causes Myers to fall off a balcony. Loomis then looks over the balcony and sees that Myers's body has disappeared."

"That was the last time anyone ever saw him. The neighborhood kids still talk about the 'boogeyman, letting all sorts of rumors take off. Some resulting in becoming Urban Legends."

"Hmmm", she said outloud. She was only five years younger than him. What would possess someone, better yet, a six year old, to do such a thing? She put her questions to the side as she continued to educate herself.

"Oh my God", she exclaimed, seeing a snapshot of the house where the original murder took place. Her new home! She put her hand on her forehead in dread. She knew there was a murder that had taken place there, but _she_ failed to inquire about it before she signed the papers. "Nice", she said outloud.

* * *

The next day, she arrived and pulled in the driveway as close as she could get to the garage door. The electrician's white van rounded the corner only moments later.

"Perfect timing", she said, grabbing her cleaning supplies from the trunk and back seat.

"I thought I recognized the address", the beer bellied plumber's type said, pulling at the waist of his pants as he walked towards her.

"Megan Talbert", she said, offering her hand.

"Bill", he said, giving her hand a shake.

"Yeah", she said, shielding her eyes from the winter sun. "I just bought the place."

"You know who used to live here, right?", he asked, looking none too happy to supply information. And ready to do so, if asked.

"Yes. Yes, I do", she said, trying not to think about it. "I got a switch issue", she said, changing the subject.

Bill grabbed his toolbelt and followed her inside.

Megan put her things down and started her cleaning regimen. Bill did his thing of moving room to room, level to level and out the front and back doors.

"Ta da", he said, flicking the switch, illluminating the room.

"You are the best", Megan said, signing the invoice. "Thank you."

"You're welcome", he said. He looked around then hesitated, obviously choosing his words. "Be careful in here."

Megan shut the door behind him and locked it. The temperature was just right for moving day and the old place needed some airing out. She opened all the windows, most had been nailed shut, so the claw of a hammer was the best choice.

The cross ventilation did wonders smell-wise, but send dust flying everywhere. She coughed and gagged, deciding to give it a few minutes. She made the trip upstairs, doing the same.

One bedroom had a large, crimson red stain on the carpet. It was almost assymetrical in shape. The newpaper article and pictures flashed in her mind. This was the room Laurie's friend had been killed in.

He curiosity got the best of her as she emplored each room and closet, opening the window with the hammer. She was surprised to see the upstairs bath had a claw foot tub. That was something rare seen in the 70's, she thought.

Walking downstairs, she wondered about the garage. She made her way through the kitchen and to the door in the laundry area.

She twisted the lock and turned the knob. Stuck. She used her should to bust through. Yuck, she thought, seeing leaes and what not on the garage floor. Her eye caught a black cirle on the corner. Nearing it, she found it was a manhole cover.

"What's that doing in here", she asked aloud. She knelt and tried to pick it up, realizing it wasn't just the cover, but was a separator between her garage and whatever was below.

She had just started the find the strength to lift it when the doorbell rang. The distorted sound sounded like someone stepped on a cat. Just another thing to add to her list of many things to do.

She stood up and ran back inside to get the door. Noone was there. "Hello?", she asked, stepping out and looking around the porch.

Probably the old house, she laughed, shutting the garage door and starting on the downstairs level. She wondered what was under that manhole cover, as she started to mop.

Listening ears were on the other side of the manhole cover...


	3. Chapter 3

After two hours of cleaning from top to bottom, Megan was only done with the downstairs. She stomped up the stairs and set her things down to start on the top level.

The beer she popped open was food for the soul. She sat on the clean floor and enjoyed a cold one. She was surprised the floors were still in such good shape. It was pretty hard to find real hardwood floors nowadays. Usually, laminate was the easier and cheaper option.

She was a little overheated and lifted up her sweatshirt, her tanktop underneath. She leaned back on her hand and crossed her legs at the ankle, reveling in her much earned break.

She looked around, trying to remember the article and compare it to what she was sitting in now. She didn't read into it well enough, or she would have discovered the small openings and walkways between the rooms and behind the walls.

A set of eyes were watching her, studying her every move, every inch of her. Cold, empty eyes, dark with angst, hatred and evil. They belonged the the man between the walls. his name was Michael. Michael Myers. This was his house. He still lived in it when time permitted. He tended to his childhood home, resorting to scaring off whoever posed a threat, even if it meant killing them.

Rumor had it that many who went in to the Myers' home, never came out. Many of those rumors were false. They did surface, but only as corpses that were found elsewhere. Michael couldn't take his eyes off of her. He was starting to form an obsession with her already. He liked the reddish tint of her hair. It reminded him of blood. Her eyes were green and would shine when the sunlight hit them the right way. He watched her turn up her beer, watching her neck as she swallowed each mouthful.

* * *

His eyes continued to travel, stopping at each feature that made his eyes widen with something he couldn't describe. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. He let out a small groan as he studied the size and shape of her voluptuous breasts, the shapely curve of her hips, the tone of her muscular legs.

He looked down to see the what burning sensation in this groin had produced. A bulge in his dirty mechanic's suit was threatening to escape. He groaned again, as if to silence the tent. He stepped back from the slit in the wall, once he heard the doorbell ring.

Megan grunted and sat her beer down as she got up. She opened the door, expecting a replay like before. She was surprised to see two kids before her. The boy and girl must have been around ten or eleven.

"Are you the lady that bought the boogeyman's house?", they boy asked. Snickers came from the kids on the sidewalk that didn't have the balls to approach the house, much less step in the yard.

"I am. And you are?", she asked, waiting for names.

"I'm Bonnie and this is Greg", the girl said.

"Well, I'm Megan", she said, shaking their small hands. "What do you know about this place?", she asked, wondering what kind of juicy tidbits she could get without the internet. Something from personal experience, maybe?

"Michael Myers lives here", Greg blurted out.

"Oh, he does?", Megan said, playing the game to see how far they would take it.

"No, he doesn't", Bonnie said, rolling her eyes. "He used to. Disappeared after he tried to kill his other sister. Noone has seen or heard from him since. Lots of rumors have started. Who knows which ones are really true", she summed it up.

"Oh, okay", Megan said. "It that all?", she asked.

"No", Greg added. "Some say he lives in the walls."

Megan let out an audible laugh. "In the walls. Are you serious?"

"Yeah", Bonnie backed him up. "There are hallways, sort of, between the rooms, I heard."

"Gotcha', Megan said. She thanked them for stopping by, even invited them to drop by again.

She shut the door and leaned against it, laughing out loud again.

*Bang*

There it was again. She pushed herself from the door and walked into the living room. She swore she heard the sound coming from in there.

She walked slowly toward the room, feeling a little different once she crossed the threshold from the hallway. She stood with her hands on her hips surveying the walls. Her eyes scanned top to bottom, left to right.

Michael hadn't moved. Neither had his lock on her. He stepped back as her eyes neared the small slit he was behind.


	4. Chapter 4

The upstairs of the old home was finally clean. Megan was sweaty and dirty. She didn't have much there, yet, in terms of paper products. She used her last clean rag to blot the sweat from her brow.

Once again, eyes were on her, watching her like a hawk. She continued to blot herself. Her face, neck, then her chest and cleavage.

Michael groaned, seeing her touch herself, in a way.

Megan thought she heard something and stopped. She looked around, then shrugged it off. Must be the house. Happy because it's clean maybe?, she smiled. She secured her messy bun and checked herself in the mirror of the bathroom.

The tub was squeaky clean and she really saw herself enjoying the depth of it this evening.

"Now to tackle the garage", she said outloud to her mirror image, using her pinky to contour the shape of her eyebrow before turning her back.

Her cell phone rang when she was halfway down the stairs. "Shit!", she stepped it up, heading towards 'Sanford and Son' blaring from the den, grabbing it just in time.

"Hello?", she answered. "What do you want Brad? We're over. No! Do NOT come after me!"

Megan hung up and sat down. She picked up her warm beer. Grunting, she pulled another one from the cooler. She sat back on the floor, trying to forget the phone call, when another came only a few minutes later.

"Hello? You think you can cheat on me and the try and make up for it, you got another thing coming. I will personally string you up if you come near me", she said.

Michael liked what he heard. He smirked, watching her as she spoke.

"You stay away from me, Brad or I will kill you, so help me God!" She slammed the phone shut.

"Uugghhh!', she cringed. She heard a rustle again. Perking up her ears, her eyes ogling the perimeter of the room, she waited for it to happen again. Michael stepped back again as he watched her stand and walk over to examine the wall again.

The sound of moving trucks coming up the road tore her away from her detective work. She ran outside to meet them, ready to instruct the placement of her posessions.

The movers hauled out all the old pieces of furniture that were left from who knows how many years ago.

Piece after piece of furniture was put it its place, giving the old home a new glow. Two hours later, Megan signed the paperwork and tipped the movers, closing the door.

Another few hours went by as she turned on the radio and started to unpack whatever she could. As long as she had a bed to sleep in, a sofa to sit on and something to cook in, she would be one happy camper. Everything else could wait until whenever.

Michael walked the halls, watching her from each room she went into. The radio was blaring too loudly for her to hear the movements he would make from time to time. His breath was hot as it richocheted off the inside of the old mask he had donned for many years. Rarely did he take it off. Those who did see his face, never lived to tell about it.

His memories of the old house came back with the old music that blared through the speakers. The fond memories of sitting at the old kitchen table for breakfast. His mother frying bacon and scrambling eggs each morning. His first mask. The clown faced one. And that fucker of a boyfriend his Mother had. Ronnie. Michael clenched his fists thinking of the night he used two rolls of duct tape just to bind him to the recliner. Judith would come down and taunt him before she went out with her boyfriend. What was his name?, he thought.

Suddenly he was jerked back to reality as silence was heard, the sound of water running from the upstairs bathroom was in the background.

Michael made his way upstairs to the wall behind his parents' old bedroom. Megan was in there making it her own. He watched her hanging up her clothes and laying out what looked like pajamas for the evening. He got a sneak peek as the sash on her robe wasn't tied tight enough, revealing her bare thigh as she bent to pick up a pair of panties that slipped out of her grasp.

There was that burning sensation again. Fueled by watching her. Dirty thoughts, and what ifs ran through his mind. He looked down to see the result of his groin tightening, stretching down the leg of the uniform, at just the sight of her. He looked up to see she was gone.

Inside the bathroom, Megan had slipped into a steaming hot bath up to her ears. Michael's breathing calmed as he watched her bathe. He liked the way she ran her hands over her body, making sure every inch of her was drenched. He'd never seen anything like it. He wondered what it would be like to touch her. She squeezed some bodywash onto a sponge and began to soap up, washing off every inch of dirt she rouled up cleaning the old place.

Megan continued washing, then laid her head back on the edge, closing her eyes. Michael waited for her, watching her lie still. After a few minutes, she sat up and pulled the plug, letting the water rush out. She stood to grab a towel. Michael reached down, her backside in his view, and rubbed his feverish erection. His eyes noticed the perfect crease in her ass and the diamond between her legs. She wrapped the sterile white plush around her body and turned around to step out. It wasn't until later, that he realized he had touched himself and why.

Michael had seen it done before. He had watched others masturbate and have sex many times before. Right up until he killed them. Never had he experienced a hard on from anything other than the satisfaction of ending a life at his own hands. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins fueled the hard on he would get from taking lives. Now, the woman in front of him was making him hard just by looking at her. He didn't quite understand it, but quickly welcomed it.

Michael waited in the bedroom for her. The shadow on the floor growing in length, meant she was coming. He watched her lose the bathrobe, letting it hit the ground and pool around her feet. He growled as he raked his nails against the wood, sending splinters flying. He watched her rub herself down with lotion, making cirular patterns on her body. He felt a small climacteric escape when she applied lotion to her breasts, rubbing it in.

Megan put on a tanktop and boy shorts and climbed into bed. Michael watched her fall into a peaceful slumber. The moonlight from the window shone on her, making her more beautiful, it that was at all possible.

Michael bided his time before he made his way from the dark hallways. He crept down the hall, his hand around the hilt, the blade clean enough you could take out someone's tonsils with it. He rounded the corner and stood in the doorway. The moonlight reflected off the knife, sending small pelts of light in certain spots of the room.

Slow, even breathing proved Megan was fast asleep. Michael walked into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. Laying the butcher knife on the nightstand, he never made a sound. He hovered over her sleeping form, gazing at her. Studying every inch of her face from close up. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Michael examined every area, grunting at the shape of her breasts, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. He reached a hand up and touched her face. He pulled back as she shifted her head from the window and turned to face him.

The innocence on her face caused him to smirk. Not smile, but smirk. He touched her face again, letting his dirty thumb graze her soft pouty lips, coaxing a small sigh from her.

Michael moved his hand lower, feeling her pulse throb from her neck, stopping shy of her chest. Even in a serial killer, lies a gentleman, somewhere. He caressed the flat plane of her stomach with his outstretched hand, conjuring up a soft moan from her. He was elated. The evil in him disappeared for a split second as he imagined doing this with her eyes open. Seeing her eyes open when she emitted her elation. His grip tightened slightly, allowing another moan to escape her lips, as she started to writh under him a bit.

Megan's eyes started to flutter and she woke up. Sitting up, she looked around and saw noone. Must have been a dream, she told herself, falling back asleep...


	5. Chapter 5

Megan stood with one hand on her hip, the other hand holding a steaming cup of coffee. She scanned the entire area and looked at the many boxes and pieces of furniture. Some were cluttered together, others just scattered around, wherever they found spot. She was debating when and how to start her attack on her first _real_ day of unpacking.

*Ding Dong*

The doorbell chimed that God awful tune again. Gotta remember to get that fixed, Megan thought, wishing she had known about it when the electrician had been there the day before. She opened the door to find Greg and Bonnie standing in front of her.

"Can we come in?", Bonnie asked, running a strand of her hair between her lips, as she waited for an invite. Greg smiled a toothy grin and nodded to back up her inquiry. They were starting to feel a bit more daring as someone was actually residing in the Boogeyman's house.

"Sure", Megan opened the door wide. They didn't hesitate to bound past her into the illuminated home. She grinned, seeing the excitement in the two pre-teens.

"You sure got a lot of boxes", Greg said, using his fingers to lift the inner folded flaps of a few to see what was hiding underneath.

"You look, you unpack", Megan said, causing Greg's hand to retract with cat-like reflexes. The look on his face resembled that of a deer in headlights.

"We'll help you unpack", Bonnie colunteered them for the job, getting a leer from Greg.

The three of them unpacked each box, Megan getting help moving pieces of furniture to their desired resting places. Greg did his fair share, which was more of supervising than actual work. He moved a few boxes around to keep the focus off him as the females were hard at work.

Meanwhile, Michael was watching again. His grunted a few deep pants on the inside of the rubber mask as he recognized the boy. Greg was one of the many who used to come in late at night and spray paint obscenities and other bits of graffiti on the walls. Michael's anger got the best of him as he balled his fists so hard, fresh blood started to flow, joining the dried blood that was already caked under his fingernails.

The girl had been in there before, but was merely a bystander and watched the destruction, sometimes provoking the others to stop, but to no avail. Michael paid very little attention to her. His eyes went to Megan next. He released his grip, bringing the color back to his white knuckles. He remembered touching her last night. The softness and innocence he felt under his hands when he caressed her. He could hardly wait for night to fall. He was beginning to develop a strong level of desire for her.

The voices had told him to kill her for invading his home. Destroying it. He ignored them and kept them at bay long enough to discover her with his hands. Feeling her soft skin under his roughness was enough to send him over the brink. He teetered between his concept of sanity and the darkness that his demons held him prisoner in. After his retreat back to his underground lair, he had taken the time to think about his experience with her. The voices tried to steer him along the only path he had taken.

Something happened when he touched Megan. Some sort of electrical surge travelled from his fingertips throughout his entire body. She made him feel alive. Like nothing or noone else ever had. Could she have the power to help him find his sanity again?

Michael's keen senses made him turn his head, jerking him back to reality. While boxes were being unpacked behind him, Greg was fumbling with some of the old wallpaper, trying to see what was behind the large loose strips. Michael's silent footsteps were never heard as he stood behind the small slit in front of Greg's curiously roaming eyes.

The rage in Michael was reaching a boiling point as Greg was dangerously close to finding the slit that separated two worlds. Michael raised his butcher knife, ready to start slicing.

"Are you gonna help us or not?", Bonnie whined, making Greg turn his head away from the job at hand.

Greg huffed and headed over, never looking back. Michael lowered his weapon and continued watching from a distance.

* * *

The day went on without a hitch. A break was long overdue and the clock read 12:30. As Megan supplied lunch to her busy bees, she decided to ask again about the home.

"So tell me more about this 'boogeyman'", she asked, gesturing wiggling fingers, after she set the lunch plates in front of them.

"His name is Michael ", Bonnie said, picking up some chips.

"Michael, I remember", Megan said. "That's a nice name."

Michael moaned lightly, hearing the sincerity in her voice when she said his name. A small tug was felt by his cold, dark heart.

"Yeah, right. For such an evil person", Greg said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Bonnie rolled her eyes and spoke again. "He killed his sister when he was six. After a long time at Smith's Grove, he had to kill a bunch of people in order to escape the place. Then, he came after his other sister, Laurie. They were both shot by the police. Michael was being taken back to Smith's Grove, but the van wrecked, and he got away. After that, noone saw him again. Rumor has it that he was shot over and over again, but still got up, coming back for more."

"That's impossible", Megan said, pulling out a chair and joining them at the table.

"Oh yeah?", Greg said with skepticism in his voice. "How do you know?", he said with his mouth full.

"I'm a surgeon", Megan said. "It's medically impossible", she said, pouring some chips on her plate.

"Cool", Bonnie said with acceptance.

"So, you get to slice and dice people for a living", Greg said, excited about the whole idea.

"In a way...Yes", she chuckled, drawing in a bit of laughter from the kids.

Michael felt a tug at his cold, dark heart. This woman he had quickly become so infatuated with was not only living in his house, but had a career choice similar to his.

Lunch was finished up and Megan showed her guests to the door. Once again, she invited them back anytime they felt like popping in.

Megan looked around the old house. Bonnie and Greg sure were a great help, as most of her unpacking was done. Now, all she had left to do was to put everything in its place.

The fireplace mantle was still in tact, but she knew she would end up replacing it at later date. She placed a few picture frames on the mantle, giving a sense of decor to the focal point.

Michael watched her walk back and forth with armfulls until she finally called it a night.

* * *

"What do you mean you won't deliver here?", Megan demanded to the pizza delivery place. "_I_ live here...Yes, I'm serious...Fine, I'll come pick it up", she said, coming close to slamming the phone down.

She huffed and grabbed her keys, shutting the door behind her.

Michael waited a few minutes before he emerged. He groaned at how different the house looked. Especially now that he was in the open versus behind a wall with a narrow eyelet. The anger started to rise in him. He dragged the tip of the butcher knife down the walls and across a sofa. He prayed for the strength not to press down, destroying it.

He walked the perimeter of the house, touching everything. Nothing was left to remind him of his family. His childhood. The many murders he committed in order to protect the home. Just new memories being made.

Something caught his eye. A picture on the mantle. Michael walked over to it. His filthy hand picked up the fancy silver frame and gazed at Megan sitting in the grass, her head tossed back in laughter. His anger disappeared as he traced the picture with a dirty finger.

The sound of a car pulling in the driveway meant it was time to go. Michael put the picture back and made his way back to his part of the house.

Megan walked in a moment later with a flat box and sat on the couch. She turned on the tv and picked up the first slice. Michael watched her eat and focus on whatever had caught her attention from the tv.

In the middle of the second slice, she noticed it. She dropped it and walked to the mantle. Reaching up, she grabbed a picture. The same picture Michael was looking at. She raised an eyebrow in confusion. She was almost positive she had it facing the other way, as it now was facing the wall.

She looked at the picture, then at her surroundings. WereGreg and Bonnie right?

Megan scolded herself for being so gullible and dismissed the idea after nothing else in the house was amuck. She also convinced herself it must have been her that inadvertantly placed the picture the wrong way. Who was she to even believe such a story?

Settling on the couch, she pulled up a blanket from the back and snuggled up, finding an old horror movie.

Michael was amazed at her bravery and audacity. Here was this beautiful woman, staying in _his_ house watching a horror flick in the pitch black. He was still watching, but was now making his way across the room to her. No sound came from the footsteps he took, nearing her.

"NO!", Megan yelled to the tv. "Don't run up the stairs, dumbass! Run out the front door", she said to the on screen victim that was being chased.

Michael was standing behind her as she leaned against the back of the couch, swaddled under a throw. His movements had been close to non-existant. He reached out a few times and touched her hair, his strokes so light, Megan had no idea he was even there.

The movie ended and Megan got up to go into the kitchen. The light went on over the stove and the sink, lighting up the area just enough to see. She washed a few dishes by hand since there was no dishwasher, laying them on a towel to air dry.

Megan heard a scuffle behind her and quickly turned around. She gasped and shuddered at the sight, causing her to grab the edges of the counter.

"Oh God", she said in a loud whisper.

Michael stood in the doorway, holding a large knife at chest height, staring at her. She stared back at him, wondering if he was the one. The one that was rumored to live in what was now her house. The one who was a serial killer. The one who showed no mercy to his victims, no matter how much they pleaded to be spared.

She eyed his features. Tall, large frame, wearing a dirty mechanic suit that zipped up the the neck. A pair of black boots were worn. A large, dirty hand gripped the hilt of the knife as he stared at her. She could hear his heavy breathing, even through the mask. His eyes were darker than the walnut shade the light made them out to be. They didn't blink. They didn't move. They were focused on her and only her.

Megan was sure she was in a state of shock. Only a few feet separated her from life and death. Her eyes kept travelling from his cold, dark eyes, back the knife that he held. His hand kept readjusting the grip he had on it as a growl escaped his lips.

Megan quickly grabbed her replica of the weapon from her butcher block, showing no fear. Inside, she was scared shitless. On the outside, she looked as though she could hold her own. Or pretty damn close to it. She was ready to fight for her life, if it came to it. Michael tilted his head at her bold move.

No movement came from either of them. They stared at each other, armed with knives, waiting for the other to make the first move. Michael lowered his knife, letting it fall to his side. Megan's eyes followed his movement, then hesistated, lowering her weapon. She rested her hand on the counter, the knife still in her grasp.

Then the phone rang. Megan turned her head to the right, looking down the hall that led to the den where she left it. She realized the situation she had diverted her sttention from and quickly looked back.

Michael was gone.


End file.
